


You and You and Me

by sirfoxheart



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, M/M, Multi, Mutual Pining, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 10:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18737089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirfoxheart/pseuds/sirfoxheart
Summary: It was a painfully short amount of time before the screaming in his body became too much to ignore, and he reluctantly pulled back, sinking back into the bed with a sigh of relief as his muscles relaxed. Eliot settled back into his seat, his hand sliding along his arm as he did so, and their fingers tangled together for a few seconds before Eliot dropped them with a quick glance at Alice.Quentin followed his gaze, suddenly feeling both nervous and self-conscious. She was watching them curiously, and he felt far too seen for comfort.He probably should have cared more. Except, she was smiling, and Eliot was alive, and anything else was just background noise.Quentin navigates his relationships after surviving the backfire of magic in the Mirror Realm. Things feel more right with Alice than they ever have, except for the fact that he can't bring himself to let go of Eliot. (Spoiler: he doesn't have to). Canon divergent from mid 4x13.





	You and You and Me

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, another post S4 finale fix it fic!
> 
> Huge thanks to the folks on RAO, who have been cheering me on since I decided that I wanted to write Quentin getting all of the love he wanted. Special shout-out to Gigi and Astrid for playing beta for me, their advice here was invaluable.

 

The first thing Quentin was aware of was pain.

The second was that he was alive.

Something was heavy on his chest, something warm. Forcing his eyes open, he squinted against the bright lights and feeling a rush of affection when he saw blond hair. Alice was in the chair beside his bed, her head on his chest, her arm thrown across him, eyes closed and glasses askew. Quentin lifted his arm, and then winced as fire shot through his shoulder and echoed throughout every inch of him.

He took a moment to gather himself before trying again. The pain was still there, but he managed to press it down as he ran his fingers over her temple, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “Alice?”

Her eyes opened quickly enough that he wondered whether she’d been truly asleep, but the relief that he saw in them was staggering. “Q?”

“Hey,” he said, his thumb stroking down her cheek as she lifted her head.

Alice pressed her lips together firmly as her eyes welled up, and then her face broke into a smile, faint laughter falling from her lips. “Hi,” she said. Leaning in, she paused for just long enough for Quentin to start to think she was going to back up again before ducking her head and pressing her lips against his.

Slipping his hand into her hair, Quentin kissed her back, trying not to wince as his body protested his movements. He didn’t care - he was okay, Alice was okay, and he just needed to _feel_ her for a minute.

Making a sound in the back of her throat, Alice pulled away, pressing her forehead against his. Her hand was on his face, on his neck, gripping his shoulder. “I am - damn it, Quentin, I am _so mad_ at you right now,” she said, her voice thick.

An apology - empty - stalled on his tongue when he heard a faint groan from beside him. Turning quickly, his breath caught when he saw the Monster slumped in the chair on the other side of his bed, his eyes blinking open as he straightened. Except it wasn't the Monster, not anymore. “Eliot?” he breathed.

“Quentin,” Eliot said, and Quentin felt overwhelmed by the relief that flowed through him. He'd been worried that when - that if they'd gotten Eliot back, that his memories of him as the Monster would be some insurmountable thing between them, but it was… just Eliot. Just Eliot, right next to him, _alive._ Quentin watched him closely through blurring eyes as he started to straighten, his hands on the armrests of his chair an indication of his intention to stand, but he quickly fell back into it with a wince, his hand going to his stomach.

“No - no, don't get up,” Quentin said, leaning forward, his hand held out to tell him to stop. Pain spasmed through him and he groaned. Alice, who had leaned back when he'd reached for Eliot, grabbed his arm, steadying him.

He was fairly sure that the concern in Eliot's eyes was the mirror of how he was feeling as he looked at him. Until - Eliot's lip twitched up into a semblance of a smile. “Look at us,” he said quietly, his white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair the only indication of his pain. “A couple of old men.”

Eliot’s eyebrow arched at him, a challenge, and Quentin saw it, he remembered - the two of them, old and aching and groaning in their old age. Neither of them had quite been able to believe that they’d made it, but they’d been happy. Finally letting himself _feel_ those memories after spending so long pushing it away, afraid that the Monster would see any hint of that and use it against them, he felt a burn at the back of his throat as his face broke out into a smile, and he laughed as tears pricked at his eyes.

He didn’t stop Eliot this time, when he shifted to the edge of his seat and reached out for him, wrapping his arms around Quentin’s shoulders. Turning more fully towards him, Quentin slipped his arms around his waist, tentatively at first but holding him tighter and tighter as Eliot’s arms tightened around him.

He was… _here_ , and he was… _alive._

The last time he'd seen him, he'd been lying unconscious in a hospital bed, about to go in for surgery. And before that… _peaches and plums, motherfucker_. Pressing his face into Eliot’s neck, he breathed him in, a long, shuddering inhale, and he felt something settle inside him as Eliot’s hand settled on the back of his head. “I'm so glad you're okay,” he whispered. Eliot made a noise in the back of his throat, a noise of discomfort, but still only held him closer.

It was a painfully short amount of time before the screaming in his body became too much to ignore, and he reluctantly pulled back, sinking back into the bed with a sigh of relief as his muscles relaxed. Eliot settled back into his seat, his hand sliding along his arm as he did so, and their fingers tangled together for a few seconds before Eliot dropped them with a quick glance at Alice.

Quentin followed his gaze, suddenly feeling both nervous and self-conscious. She was watching them curiously, and he felt far too seen for comfort.

He probably should have cared more. Except, she was smiling, and Eliot was alive, and anything else was just background noise.

Turning back to Eliot, his question about his injury died on his lips when he saw the look on his face. All traces of relief and joy were gone and replaced with a frown, his arms crossed over his chest. Even in a hospital gown, he looked intimidating as all hell. “What the fuck, Quentin?”

He froze, taken aback by the sudden anger in his voice. Anger - and hurt. “What did I do?”

Eliot clenched his jaw, glancing at Alice again before looking back to him. “I woke up from surgery - after, you know, being trapped in my own head for months on end,” Eliot said, his voice dropping low, and Quentin’s mouth went dry as the image of him bleeding out in the hospital bed flashed through his mind. “To find out that you almost got yourself killed.”

Thrown from one memory to another, Quentin tried to straighten up and then winced as pain radiated through him once more. He remembered… He remembered the look on Alice’s face, in the moment before Penny grabbed her, her scream as he pulled her from the room. He remembered casting the mending spell, the look on Everett’s face as he saw what he’d done. He remembered running for the door.

He didn’t remember making it through.

Quentin sank lower in the bed as it came back to him, one hit after another. He felt a wave of nausea at the gap in his memories. “I don't even… it all happened so fast…”

“You fixed the mirror to trap the monster and stop Everett. The magic shot through the room and killed him. It almost killed you -” Alice cut off, looking away, and he reached out to hold her hand. Hers gripped his so tightly that her knuckles turned white, and when she raised her eyes to meet his again, they looked haunted. “When Penny grabbed me…”

And just like that, meeting her gaze was too much. Quentin looked away, uncomfortable. “I'm sorry. I couldn't risk anything happening to you…”

“Just to you,” Eliot said softly, and Alice's hand tightened impossibly further on his. He thought it was shaking, until he realised that the tremors were coming from him. Eliot was right. As long as the two of them were okay, he would have done anything, no matter the cost. The moment unpacked itself in his head, the instant that he’d made the decision, the determination he’d felt, the certainty, and he… he… “I thought I was going to die,” he whispered. Fresh tears landed on his cheeks and he wiped them away hastily. “I thought… I thought it would be worth it, if you were… both okay…”

Eliot's hand slipped into his other one, his thumb stroking over the back of his hand. “Quentin,” he said softly, and Quentin forced himself to look up at him. His eyes were shining. “It's not worth your life.”

“I…” He choked on the words. He wasn’t sorry. He would have done it the same way a hundred times if it meant getting Alice to safety. He’d tried living in a world without her, and he wasn’t going to do it again. Taking a deep breath, he pushed past that fear and turned back to Alice. “But we’re all okay now, right? We’re all okay.”

Alice smiled at him, in the way that looked like she was trying not to cry. “Yeah. We’re all okay.”

* * *

Okay, it turned out, was relative.

Quentin was discharged from the hospital the following day with strict orders to rest until the ache left his body. He’d been just far enough away from the mirror not to do any lasting damage, but the hit of pure magic had left him feeling like he’d been beaten to a pulp.

It took Eliot much longer to heal from his wound. There was something about the ice axe that made his wound resistant to a quick magical healing, so even with magical assistance he was in the hospital for a week before they let him come home.

But Eliot’s physical injuries were the least of Quentin’s worries. He had seemed okay in the hospital, considering the circumstances, but the differences became more noticeable when they took him home to Kady’s apartment. He seemed apart from everything in a way that he  had never been before. Quentin understood, or he thought he did. He’d spent months trapped inside his own mind with only a moment’s control over his body, with no idea of what was happening in the real world. It wasn’t quite what had happened when Alice had used his body as a Niffin, but he knew how unsettling it had been, knew how much worse this must be.

Quentin found himself watching him more often than not, sitting at the kitchen island when everyone else was in the living room; curled up tight on the couch when everyone else was milling in the kitchen. Like he wanted to be near them but couldn’t quite figure out how.

He got it, he did. The need to be around the people he’d been parted from, the desire to be alone because it was all too much, the lack of middle ground that made both of those things impossible. But he wasn’t going to let Eliot think he had to go through this alone. He wished he was brave enough to do as Margo did - completely ignoring Eliot’s signals and sprawling herself across him on the couch, just like they’d used to do.

The surprise on Eliot’s face had quickly turned into relief, and Quentin resolved to try harder.

Julia was the one who suggested putting a movie on. Sitting across the golden chair with her legs hanging over the side, she turned on the television and started browsing through Netflix. Quentin exchanged a glance with Alice, before he slowly walked over to where Eliot sat on one end of the couch, leaning against the armrest and watching as Julia called out options. Silently, he sat down beside Eliot, leaving a foot of space between them and bracing himself for Eliot to stiffen or move, and breathing a quiet sigh of relief when he did neither. Alice settled in on his other side, a bag of caramel popcorn in hand.

Glancing sideways, he smiled in surprise when he found Eliot watching him out of the corner of his own eye. Eliot’s lip twitched in response, his body visibly relaxing before he turned his eyes back to the television, and Quentin took his lead, letting that smile warm him, small as it was.

The popcorn was gone by the time the Sorcerer's Stone was halfway through, and Alice leaned forward to put the empty packet on the coffee table in front of them. When she settled back onto the couch, Quentin shifted in his seat, reaching for her hand, and as he did so Eliot moved beside him. He glanced across as him and caught a glimpse of closed eyes, a relaxed face, before he slipped sideways, his head falling onto his shoulder.

Holding his breath, he waited for Eliot to stir, and when he hadn’t after a few seconds he turned his head to look at Alice. “Is he asleep?” she whispered.

He pulled a face to say “ _I think so,”_ and she grimaced.

“I know he hasn’t been sleeping well,” she said, frowning at Eliot. She glanced at Quentin, her jaw tightening, but when she looked back at Eliot he caught the effort she took to exhale. The tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “It’s hard to let yourself give up control enough to sleep when your every waking minute is about relishing the control you have.”

Stunned, Quentin watched her for a few seconds before slowly turning back to the television with unseeing eyes. He was hyper aware of Eliot’s weight against his shoulder, his hand dropped onto the couch between them, his gentle movement with every breath.

He hadn’t considered just how much Alice might relate to Eliot right now, and how much he might relate to her. Maybe that was why she’d been so supportive of… well, _of this_ , he thought, feeling more than a little guilty at how good it felt to have Alice leaning in on one side and Eliot on the other.

He spent the next ten minutes trying not to move, lest he wake Eliot when he was finally, finally getting some sleep. He’d noticed it too, the fact that he was always awake when Quentin went to bed and also when he woke up in the morning, that when he shuffled through the living room in the middle of the night, he’d quite often be sitting in front of the television, or staring out the window.

The thought that Eliot was comfortable, here, with him.

It felt good.

He was still leaning on him when the credits started rolling, and Quentin didn't move when Alice slipped out from under his arm, stretching her shoulders. He glanced across at Julia when she didn't click back to stop the next movie from playing, and found her asleep as well.

Alice reached for the remote. "Leave it on," he said quietly and she paused, remote in hand. He was tired, sure, but he wasn't ready to go to bed yet, not if that meant disturbing Eliot. "I'll stay up a bit and watch some of the second one."

After a pause, Alice turned down the volume a few notches and turned back to him, dropping the remote onto the spot on the couch that she'd just vacated. There was more than sympathy in the way she pressed her lips together when she looked down at Eliot. “I don’t think I’ve seen him so relaxed since he was passed out in the Physical Cottage half a lifetime ago.” She paused, then offered Quentin a faint smile.

He returned the smile gratefully, feeling a swell of appreciation that she _got it._ "Night, Alice," he said as she leaned down to kiss him.

"Good night."

Once she was gone, Quentin turned his attention back to the television as the second Harry Potter started playing. Julia was still sleeping, curled up in her pile of cushions on the floor, and Quentin carefully, carefully, sunk a little lower in the couch, holding his breath as Eliot slipped a little closer, settling more firmly on Quentin's shoulder with a small sigh.

Letting out his breath slowly, Quentin closed his eyes and gave himself a moment. Just one. The press of Eliot against him felt so good after he'd put so much distance between them. He knew it wasn't personal, that he'd struggled with everyone being close to him while he was healing, but… but he thought it was, just a little. Which of course Eliot didn't want to be close to him, because _that's not you, and it's definitely not me_ , except for the fact that this was the first time he'd seen him so calm since he'd gotten out of hospital.

Eliot made a noise, a whisper Quentin couldn't catch, his hand moving to touch his arm. Opening his eyes, he looked down at Eliot, not quite able to see his face. It felt like a moment that didn't quite belong to him, but he closed his eyes again and let himself have it anyway.

Feeling a touch on his cheek, he squeezed his eyes further shut, leaning into it automatically. He was warm, so warm, something solid and steady underneath him, and when he flexed his fingers they twisted in soft silk.

With the touch - fingers - brushing over his cheek, he blinked his eyes open and looked up at Eliot. He'd fallen asleep, he realised, and somehow the two of them had managed to rearrange until Quentin was curled up with his head on Eliot's chest. And Eliot… tilting his head back, he found Eliot looking down at him, just inches away, his eyes so soft. “Morning.”

Moving his hand to Eliot's chest, he pushed himself up just far enough that it didn't hurt his eyes to look at him. Light flickered across Eliot's face from the television, but he didn't want to look away to check if there was any daylight peeking through the curtains. “Is it?” he asked, his voice groggy even to his ears, and Eliot's eyes wrinkled when he smiled.

“No, it’s like… I don’t know, but it’s dark, so probably not.” Eliot's hand dropped from his face to cover the one on his chest, and he suddenly became aware of Eliot's other arm, wrapped around his waist, and the fact that he _really_ didn't want to move out from underneath it. Eliot didn't move it, either. “We should go to bed. My body’s going to kill me in the morning.”

Bed sounded good. But he was so warm, his body so relaxed. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmured. He didn't pull away.

Eliot's thumb rubbed over his hand a few times before Quentin felt his arm tightening slowly around him, and he dropped his head back down onto Eliot's chest. Pressing his face against him, he took a long, deep breath, sinking into his familiar scent. He felt so good, this felt so good.

But. It wasn’t his.

It was just… hard, not to give himself this after living in fear for so long that he was never going to get Eliot back again.

But he loved Alice, and he couldn't break what he had with her. He didn't _want_ to. Not again. And there was no point in even thinking about it anyway, not when Eliot had already told him that he didn’t want this.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he pulled back, careful not to knock Eliot’s still-healing body, looking anywhere but at him. His arms loosened and then dropped from around him, and Quentin pushed himself to his feet, glancing around the room for the first time since he'd woken. The room was empty - Julia must have woken and gone to bed. Harry was fighting a basilisk. “Night, El,” he said, hesitantly glancing down at him.

Eliot leaned forward on the couch, rolling his shoulders. There was something in his eyes, something like comfort. “Good night, Quentin.”

* * *

Poking his head into the bedroom he was sharing with Alice, Quentin smiled when he found her sitting cross legged on the bed and surrounded by sheets of paper. She'd disappeared after breakfast, telling him that she had something she had to work on, but he thought it was well past time for an interruption. "What are you doing?"

Alice made a note on one of the sheets in front of her before raising her eyes to meet his across the room. "I'm working on a way to remove the worms from the hedges without causing harm to anyone. The only attempts that have been survived so far have ended with the hedges unable to perform magic, even with the Reed’s mark removed. Kady asked me to take a look."

Rolling his lips together, Quentin drank in her contentment, her confidence, her certainty. He'd never seen her so sure as she had been in the last few weeks - in what she had to do, in herself. Pushing away from the door, he closed it behind him and stepped properly into the room. "Funny about that," he said casually. "Kady asked _me_ to tell you to take a break."

She tried and failed to hide her smile. “I’m sure she did.”

Reaching the bed, Quentin took the corner of one of the pages between his thumb and his forefinger and pulled at it, slowly so as to give her a chance to stop. “Seriously, though. Thinking about something else might give you a new perspective.”

Sighing reluctantly, she nodded. “You’re right,” she said, and began sorting her papers into a pile.

Sitting down on the bed, Quentin passed her the ones that he’d gathered and waited until she’d put everything aside onto the bedside table before grabbing her by the waist and pulling her down onto the bed with him. Her laughter cut off when he pressed his mouth to hers, and after a moment she relaxed into him, shifting to get the angle right, one hand cupping his face while the other gripped at his shoulder. Quentin’s arm slipped around her back, the other tightening on her waist, and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, relishing the warmth of her body pressed against his, living in the rightness of it all.

He could feel her smiling against him, and he felt good, he felt so good. He’d given up thinking that he and Alice were a thing that had a chance of working, that he could find this happiness with her again, but - they were so different now than they had been just a few weeks ago, a few months ago, a few years ago. For the first time, he thought that they were both ready for something real, something steady, without the chaotic desperation of the first few months of young love.

Eventually he slowed the kiss, lifting one hand to thread through Alice’s hair, and when she pulled back to look down at him she was still smiling. “Hey,” she said, almost shyly.

“Hey.”

Leaning down, she kissed him softly again. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you this carefree,” she said, then paused. “Well. Maybe not so long. But it’s been years since I’ve seen this you this happy.”

She’d told him about the hour she’d spent with younger Quentin at Brakebills South. He felt… not the same kind of happy, but happy nonetheless. “Are you happy?” he asked her, stroking his thumb across her cheek.

Her smile lit up something bright inside of him. “So happy,” she told him.

Slipping his hand around to the back of her head, he pulled her down. “Good,” he murmured, before pressing his mouth to hers. That was all that mattered.

Almost.

* * *

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Quentin followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen but paused when he stepped into the living room and saw Alice and Eliot sitting around the corner of the kitchen island. He was far enough away that he could only just hear their quiet voices but not pick up their words, and he resisted the urge to creep closer, ducking back into the doorway instead.

He didn’t want to intrude.

He _really_ wanted to know what they were talking about.

It wasn’t like they didn’t talk. Quentin knew that they understood each other on a level that most of the rest of them couldn’t, and he was glad that they had that, even if they were both still awkward and stiff around each other. He didn’t want to think that that was about him, didn’t want anything other than the two of them to be happy and in his life, but they were trying. He was trying.

From this angle, he could see Eliot’s face and the side of Alice’s. They both looked tired, and it looked like they were only picking at the breakfast in front of them. Alice’s legs were crossed, her back straight, and Eliot would have looked casual and relaxed if not for the obvious tension in his shoulders, the lines in his brow.

As he watched, Eliot rolled his eyes as he spoke, leaning back in his chair. Alice raised her eyebrows pointedly, and Eliot stiffened from whatever barb she’d thrown him. Quentin’s breath caught and he took a step forward, ready to step in, but paused when Eliot’s lips twisted into a wry grimace and Alice’s face softened.

Whatever she said next turned Eliot’s smile into something faint but genuine, and whatever he said next made her smile, too. She stretched her hand out on the counter towards him, palm up, and after a few seconds Eliot put his hand in hers.

Swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat, Quentin took a slow step back, and then another. He felt like he was intruding on… whatever this was. But his confusion, the itch inside him that wanted to know, was nothing to the thought of Alice and Eliot finding some kind of support in each other.

* * *

Stuffing his hands into his pockets (against the cold, _not_ because he was sulking), Quentin huffed a sigh, looking down at his feet. “I looked away for a minute, tops,” he said again.

“Yeah, a minute with the stove on high,” Alice pointed out, not even trying to hide the grin on her face. Glancing up at him sideways, her smile slipped and she wrapped her hands around his arm, leaning into him without slowing down. “Hey, it’s fine. It’s nice to get out of the apartment for something normal.”

“We haven’t done much normal for a while,” he agreed. He was still bummed out - he’d wanted to do something nice for her, and cooking lunch had seemed like a fairly straightforward option. Apparently that had been wishful thinking.

The cafe was a few blocks from the apartment, and Quentin followed Alice to one of the booths at the back. Climbing onto the seat opposite her, he picked up a menu, looking around at the crowded space. The waitresses looked busy, but he didn’t mind the wait. “Is it weird that I feel like we have more privacy here than in the apartment?”

“Not in the slightest,” Alice said lightly, but there was something in her eyes before she dropped them down to the menu in her hands. “Um. It’s part of the reason why I suggested going out. I wanted to talk to you -”

She cut off as a waitress appeared at the edge of their table, asking for their drink orders. His eyes flickered over Alice’s face for a few seconds, trying to discern what she might have been about to say, before he reluctantly pulled them away. _I wanted to talk to you_ never ended well, but he wasn’t going to let his mind spiral, wasn’t going to think the worst, wasn’t going to -

“So what did you want to talk about?” he blurted out the second the waitress turned her back.

Folding her hands on the table in front of her, Alice met his gaze evenly. “I wanted to talk to you about Eliot.”

Quentin froze, his mind automatically going to the conversation he’d seen them have yesterday morning, and then to last week when they’d fallen asleep together on the couch. “Oh,” he said, his mind blanking of all appropriate responses.

“You miss him,” she said simply, and Quentin dropped his eyes. He didn’t want to deny it. She was right - somehow, with all of them crammed into one apartment which they very rarely left, he still missed him. Had missed him ever since he’d been hit with the knowledge of what it had been like to have him, and then had the opportunity for more taken away. Reluctantly, he looked up at her again and found her watching him sadly. “He misses you, too.”

Suddenly his throat was burning. He cleared it before he tried to speak. “I’m right there,” he said, knowing as he spoke that it wasn’t the same.

All traces of smile, real or otherwise, faded from Alice’s face, and she took a deep breath before continuing. “He’s struggling, Quentin, with feeling in control of himself. It’s hard to just be _gone_ for so long, and to come back and see everyone has kept on going. And he has it worse, because someone was walking around in his body for months. He feels apart from everything, and I - I get that.” Pausing, she toyed at the edge of the menu, folding the cardboard between her fingers. “He doesn’t want to put too much on you, but he needs you, Q.”

His hands felt clammy. He rubbed them against his jeans. “Is that why… I’ve thought he was avoiding me - a little, anyway - is that…”

“He said it was good to see you so happy,” she said quietly. “With me. And I think he meant it, but he didn’t look happy.”

“Did…” He pushed down the wave of pain he felt at the thought of Eliot hurting because of something he’d done. Peripherally, he was aware that he probably should have been angry that Eliot had the nerve to be upset because he was happy with Alice when _he_ was the one who’d turned him down, but he just felt lost. “Did he explain why?

“No,” Alice said, but something on her face told him that she knew, or at least had an idea.

And he didn’t want to hold this inside himself any longer. It wasn’t that they’d kept it a secret on purpose - just that this was something that was theirs, just theirs, and when Eliot had told him that he didn’t want to try in this life, he’d wanted to keep those memories close, private, his. But now, sitting with Alice, he didn’t want to keep it all inside anymore. The words poured out of him. He told her about learning to live together, about meeting Arielle, about coming together with Eliot. He told her about getting married, about Teddy - _oh, Teddy_ \- about their grandchildren.

“We lived out our whole lives,” he said softly. Their meals sat untouched in between them. “I was… we were happy. I don’t know how it works, why we remembered everything even though it didn’t actually happen, but… I remember it like it happened, like I lived through all of those years. Somehow, it happened.”

Alice was silent for a few minutes, and he started to worry that he’d overwhelmed her. He felt pretty overwhelmed himself. Her hand twitched on the table, as though she was about to reach over and take his, but instead she dropped them into her lap. “If you were happy, why didn’t you…?”

She trailed off without finishing the sentence, but he didn’t need her to. He knew what she was asking. And this was another reason why he hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, not even Julia. Wrapping his arms around his middle, he dropped his eyes. “He - um. We decided that… you know, things were different there. Than it is here.”

“Right…” Alice said slowly, and the discomfort in her voice had him looking back up at her quickly, but instead of discomfort he only found skepticism. He wasn’t sure what was worse.

“I just. We decided not to go there again. But I didn’t want to hide it from you.”

Smiling at him faintly, she finally reached across the table and wrapped her hand around his. “Thank you. But Quentin... I get that all of this is all kinds of messed up, and none of this could have been easy on either of you. Just… don’t let whatever happened get in the way of being there for each other now. It’s okay to support him when he needs you. Even if he’s too proud to ask for that himself.”

His heart tightening in his chest, Quentin squeezed her hand, thanking her silently. There were no words that spoke just how much it meant to him - that she understood, that she accepted it all without worry, that she was looking out for Eliot. “I love you,” he said instead, pulling their joined hands up to press a kiss to the back of hers.

* * *

Tightening his grip on the book in his hand, Quentin pushed open the door to the patio and stepped out into the cold evening air. The sun had gone down a while ago, but the soft lights around the balcony lit up the space well enough that it didn’t seem ridiculous for him to intend to read outside. Eliot sat on the chair in the corner, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles as his feet rested on the arm of the other chair. He was staring out over the street, a cigarette held loosely between his fingertips.

Eliot glanced up at the sound of the door, his wariness turning to joy turning to careful indifference when he laid eyes on Quentin. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He shifted his book to his other hand, waved it in front of him half-heartedly. “Mind if I join you?” Eliot dropped his feet from the chair without a word, and Quentin stepped forward quickly. “No, you don’t -” he started, but Eliot was already shifting to get comfortable with his feet stretched out in front of him instead, and Quentin slowly sank down into the chair. “Thank you.”

In response, Eliot took a drag from his cigarette and turned to look back out onto the street.

Trying not to look at him too obviously, Quentin tucked his legs up underneath him, balancing his book against his thigh as he opened it. It was a volume on camouflage spells that he’d found in Marina’s bookshelf and had been intrigued by but not found the time to read until now. Pulling his sleeves down to cover most of his hands, he curled in on himself as best he could. It was cold, so cold that his breath frosted in front of his face, and he hoped - he hoped it was obvious that he was out there for the company rather than any real desire for the frigid air to burn his lungs.

He tried to immerse himself in the book, but his awareness stayed on Eliot. When he reached across to put out the cigarette in the ashtray, Quentin glanced up before he could stop himself, and found Eliot watching him with something like amusement on his face. “You could… you know, use a heating spell,” Eliot said lightly.

Quentin did _not_ want to admit that he hadn’t even thought of that. “Why didn’t _you_ use a heating spell?” he threw back at him instead, feeling approximately twelve years old.

The laughter in Eliot’s eyes was worth it, and Quentin started forming the spell that would create a barrier around the balcony and warm the air within it. Glancing up at Eliot, he paused when he saw the the humour fading into careful neutrality. “I like to feel it,” he said quietly.

Quentin let the spell dissolve.

Trying not to let the guilt sink too deep, he turned back to his book, staring at the words without seeing them. He was so focused on focusing that he jumped when he felt something against his chest, and looked down to see Eliot pressing his flask against him. He hadn’t even seen him move, but when he lifted his head it was to find him leaning forward in the chair, nodding pointedly toward the flask.

“Oh, I thought -” he said, cutting himself off before any more words could spill. _You said you were trying not to drink yourself to death, because there was no oblivion strong enough to escape it all_ , he’d said, and maybe it wasn’t a good idea to remind him of that.

Eliot looked almost offended. “I’m allowed to drink for fun too, you know.”

For fun. He hadn’t thought Eliot was ready for fun yet, particularly not after his conversation with Alice a few days ago, but… he could do fun. If it made Eliot smile, he’d do anything. Trying to keep at least some kind of rein on his elation, he uncapped the flask and took a sip, then a bigger mouthful at the _is that all_ look on Eliot’s face.

Eventually Quentin started to relax. They sat and drank for a while, reading and smoking. Quentin took the first cigarette that Eliot offered him but declined any more. Every now and then Eliot lit another one, but he wasn’t going at them one after another like he did when he first got back.

That’s what they called it. Got back. Because it was simpler than thinking about it too closely.

Quentin tried to read his book, but found himself starting the same paragraph over and over. He thought he should probably care more, but if he were honest with himself, he’d happily just sit outside and stare at the same page all night if it Eliot was okay. It was nice to sit just outside with Eliot and feel peaceful, to hope his presence was helpful, a comfort, something.

Until.

“Be brave,” Eliot muttered, and when Quentin looked up his face was solemn. He’d straightened up in his seat, and his hands were pressed together in his lap. “Quentin,” he said, this time louder, his voice deep and deliberate. “I’m sorry.”

Quentin’s hand tightened around his book, the other on the flask. “Sorry? What -”

“Please,” Eliot said, interrupting him. He pressed his lips together, his eyes looking pinched. “I’m probably only going to be able to get this out once, so if you could just -”

“Okay, okay,” Quentin said quickly, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach.

Quirking the corner of his lips in an appreciative almost-smile, Eliot leaned forward in his seat, glancing away and then letting his breath out in a fast, short exhale. “I lied.” He stared at the floor for a few seconds before lifting his eyes to Quentin’s. “When we first got our memories of the… of the mosaic, of that life. I should have been brave then, but… I can try now, at least.”

“What -” he said, then swallowed his words when Eliot’s brow furrowed. _What are you talking about?_ he thought, feeling the question in every aching inch of him.

“I wanted it. I wanted to dive right in with you the moment you suggested it, but - I’ve never wanted anything like that before. I’ve never _needed_ anything like that before, and - I was afraid. Of what you could do to me, of…” His eyes dropped again. Quentin sat frozen, his whole world tipping on its axis. Everything in him wanted to reach out to him, to take away the pain on his face. “Of what I could do to you,” he said, and Quentin’s heart broke.

“Eliot…”

“I don’t want to upset things with Alice,” he said quickly. “It’s good that you’re together and that you’re making each other happy, and Q… that’s all I want. For you to be happy. But I needed you to know that you were wanted. That you’ve always been wanted.” Grimacing, he lifted his head and looked out onto the street, and the obvious distress on his face had Quentin dropping his eyes to the flask in his hand, staring sightlessly at the delicately engraved swirls in the metal. “I… I’m so... “ Eliot paused, took a deep breath. “I don’t have the right words for how much it means that you still fought for me, despite… everything. He would have killed me, if it weren’t for you.” His voice dropped to something barely above a whisper, but Quentin heard every word. “Thank you for fighting for me, even when… when I didn’t have the courage to fight for you.”

The flask was blurry, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. His throat was burning. He couldn’t look at him. If he looked at him he’d start crying for real, and… and that wasn’t going to help anybody. “It’s okay,” he whispered, because he didn’t know what else to say to that. What were you supposed to say to that? “Um.” He cleared his throat. “I told Alice.”

Eliot was silent for a few seconds. “I thought you might.”

He didn’t sound angry or even annoyed, just… accepting. Which… Quentin wondered how different this conversation would have been if Eliot hadn’t come back to himself to find that he’d gotten back with Alice. He couldn’t regret that, he _didn’t_ , but he wondered… wondered how easy it would have been to get up from his chair and crawl into Eliot’s lap, to wrap his arms around him and hold him close, to push the voice inside his head that told himself that he was unwanted away with Eliot’s body wrapped around his. To kiss him, and feel at home.

But he _had_ gotten back together with Alice, and he didn’t regret that. He couldn’t pretend to - he loved her. But… he wondered.

Eventually he found the courage to look up at Eliot, and was surprised to find him watching him closely. Eliot smiled at him faintly - hopefully - and Quentin felt the turmoil inside him settle. A little, anyway. It mattered, it all mattered so much, but - but Eliot was here. Eliot was alive. _That_ was what was important. And he knew how hard it must have been for him to speak up. “Thank you,” he said.

Eliot’s smiled turned into something softer. Quentin watched him take in a deep breath, heard show shaky it was, and he _knew_ that when Eliot reached out his hand he was asking for the flask, but -

Dropping the book into his lap without caring to mark the page, Quentin leaned over and grasped Eliot’s hand. Eliot’s fingers closed around his tightly, squeezing squeezing squeezing.

* * *

Slipping onto the stool at the kitchen island, Quentin unfolded the top of the box of Bee Holes and peeked inside. The box was over half full, so he reached in and grabbed a handful.

He had - blissfully - nothing to do today.

And he felt good. Another week had passed without any life-threatening or world-ending dramas, and although it felt too good to be true, he wasn’t going to let himself question it. Alice and Kady were steadily helping more and more hedges. Margo had visited for a few days, and those few days alone had done more for Eliot’s sense of self than anything in the weeks since he’d left the hospital. Julia had _found magic again_ , despite fearing that she’d never be able to use it.

Yeah. Life was good.

He heard footsteps, and turned to see Alice approaching him, shrugging into a coat. She reached over to pluck a few Bee Holes from the box as she kissed him quickly. “There  _is_ milk in the fridge,” she reminded him, pressing her forehead against his for a few seconds before pulling away.

“I know,” he said, grinning at her as he tossed a Bee Hole into his mouth.

She leaned forward to press her lips quickly to his cheek. “We’re going out for coffee.”

“Oh, really?” He closed the top of the box, fumbling to slide the tab into place. He’d thought they were having a quiet morning at the apartment, but it wouldn’t take him long to put some shoes on and brush his teeth before they went out. “Where are we going?”

“Alice and I are going to the coffee shop on West 39th,” Eliot said, and Quentin turned in surprise to see him throwing a scarf around his neck.

 _Alice and I_ … Quentin slowly spun the stool around so he could properly see the both of them. The two of them were going out. For coffee. Like that was a perfectly normal thing. Which it could have been - they’d had plenty to bond over, according to Alice, but he felt a stab of nervousness that maybe _he_ was one of those things.

He was also _thrilled_ that they wanted to spend time together, but mostly he _really_ wanted to know what they would talk about while they were getting _coffee_.

"Um. Okay." Quentin looked between them and found identical hints at anxiety hidden between their carefully casual expressions. The tightness around Eliot's eyes, around Alice's mouth. He wanted to smooth it out, for both of them. He wasn't sure whether they were putting on a show for him or each other or both, but Alice's lips against his cheek were warm and Eliot's smile almost genuine. "Can I come?"

"Nope!" Eliot said cheerfully, and Quentin blinked up at him in confusion.

Alice grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "We might be out for a few hours."

"If you’re lucky we’ll bring you back a danish.”

Reaching backward, Quentin put the cereal box on the counter. He immediately regretted that because now his hands were empty and he didn't know what to do with them. "Oh - okay. Um. Have a good time?"

Eliot opened the front door, and stepped back to let Alice walk through first. She smiled, waving her fingers before she disappeared through it, and Quentin turned his eyes to Eliot, who -

Winked at him, before stepping out of the apartment and closing the door behind him.

Quentin stared at the door, trying to make sense of what was happening. It wasn't weird that they were talking - okay, it was a little weird, but he got it. They'd been at odds for half the time they'd known each other, but everyone had changed so much and he understood their shared experience and how that could help both of them.

What he didn't understand, was how either of them had moved past their stubbornness to actually accept that and choose to spend time together.

Grabbing the Bee Holes, he walked over to the couch and curled up in the corner, turning the television on and trying not to think about what they could be talking about. It could be anything - their struggles with returning to their lives post possession/niffin, Brakebills, Fillory, magic.

Him.

Well, _that_ was arrogant. But...

He’d told Alice what Eliot had said to him last week, that he… he hadn't meant it when he said he wouldn't choose him. The thought still caused a whirl of confusion and pleasure and sadness inside him, and he pushed all of that down. Eliot knew that Alice knew everything. There were no secrets to be spilled.

So why did he feel so nervous?

He was still flicking through Netflix when Julia sank into the seat beside him. "What are you watching?"

"Whatever you put on," he said, passing the remote to her, and he didn't quite manage to avoid the concerned look on her face.

"What’s wrong with you?” she asked as she took the remote, dropping it onto her lap.

Smiling at her humourlessly, he shrugged. “Alice and Eliot have gone out for coffee," he said, hoping he sounded anything close to nonchalant.

“Oh, cool." Julia clicked onto a show, and tossed the remote onto the coffee table in front of them. "I have noticed them talking more lately. It’s nice that they’re getting along.”

"Hmm." Nice was one word for it. Stressful was another. _Fuck, why can't you just be happy about this?_

Julia frowned. “Hmm? Why is that hmm?”

And how the hell was he supposed to explain that? He didn't know where to start, and wasn't sure he wanted to, yet. “It’s just hmm.”

Julia narrowed her eyes at him, smiling at him doubtfully. “Are you keeping secrets from me, Coldwater?”

Quentin turned back to the television so he wouldn't have to meet the curiosity in her eyes. “Just a whole lifetime’s worth.”

He could feel her eyes on him for a few more seconds, and whatever she saw must make her decide not to push it. “Fine," she said brightly. "Keep your secrets. See what I care.”

There was not an ounce of bite to her tone, and her easy blend of humour and acceptance settled some of his disquiet. Sinking low on the couch, he leaning his head against her shoulder. “I love you, Jules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She shuffled down and leaned into him as well. “I love you, too.”

Julia’s company did perk him up, and he let himself get distracted with what was going on with her instead of everything that was going on in his brain today.

And the best thing was - she was doing okay. Things had been hard for her, really hard when she'd woken up and found that the choice of her future had been taken away from her, but since she'd found magic again - real, regular magic - she'd started to heal.

Penny had still been around, and still around Julia, but not as much as before everything had all gone down. He didn't know where she stood with Penny, but he was willing to follow Julia's lead.

Somehow, he managed to stay put when the door to the apartment opened, but he couldn’t stop the tension that filled his body, or the way his head swivelled to see who it was. Alice walked in first, followed closely by Eliot. They both glanced around the room, and when they both caught sight of him and _smiled_ , so genuine and light and _easy_ , he knew that they’d been looking for him.

The two of them shared a glance, Eliot reaching out to give Alice’s hand a squeeze before disappearing down the hallway in the direction of his bedroom. Slipping out of her coat, Alice hung both it and her bag over the back of a chair and walked over to sit down on his other side. “How was your coffee date?” he asked casually.

Or not, if the knowing smile she gave him was anything to go by. “It was good,” she said, and when she didn’t elaborate further he felt like he would die of curiosity. _What did you talk about?_ She sat up straighter, her face falling. “Oh no, we didn’t bring you back anything.”

The twisting in his stomach bubbled up out of his throat into laughter. “It’s fine,” he said, and it was. Alice was fine, he and Eliot and Julia were fine, they were doing good good better every day.

Alice and Eliot were spending time together, and it was _good_.

“We won’t forget next time,” Alice said, leaning against his arm, and -

 _Next time_.

Quentin smiled as warmth spread through him, softening the hard edges of his anxiety.

* * *

“You could wear one of the button downs, if you wanted. The navy one’s nice.”

Quentin glanced over his shoulder at Alice, who was lying on her stomach on his bed, watching him get ready for their date, before turning back to frown at the plain grey t-shirt that he’d already pushed his wrists through. They just had a casual night ahead, and Alice didn’t usually pressure him to dress up anyway. “Are we still just going to get some burgers and see a movie?”

“We could.” He heard her shuffling on the bed behind him, and turned his head again to see her rearranging so that she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands flat on the bed on either side of her. “Or, you and Eliot could go to a proper restaurant and go out for some drinks after.”

Startled, he turned around to face her properly, certain that he hadn’t heard her right. “What?”

She shrugged. “Well, you could probably still see the movie if you really wanted, but I know he has this whole thing planned.”

_“Alice.”_

Alice took a deep breath, then lifted the corners of her mouth into an awkward smile. “This doesn’t have to be our date night. Tonight can be for you and Eliot. If you want.”

 _For… for him and Eliot… if he_ wanted? He stared at her, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest. He couldn’t - oh god, was she _breaking up with him?_ Because he couldn’t hide the fact that he still - that he still had feelings for Eliot? “Alice,” he said again, stepping toward her and reaching out to grab her hand, squeezing it tightly between both of his. “I’m _happy_ with you.”

“And I’m happy with you.” Her smile was warm and genuine, and he didn’t understand how she could be so _calm_ about this. “Quentin, Eliot’s in love with you. And it’s okay if you’re in love with him, too.”

Quentin’s eyes fell closed. He didn’t want to lie to her. He’d been trying to push it down, to not let himself think about it, feel it, ever since… well, ever since Eliot had told him that he didn’t want him.

Which -

Hadn’t been true.

But none of that changed the fact that this finally felt _right_ with Alice. They’d been through so much - together, and not - and now that they were finally on something close to even ground… he couldn’t get past the feelings he had for one of his best friends. Hastily pulling the shirt over his head, he dropped onto the bed beside her, tucking one leg underneath the other so he could face her fully. “I don’t want to lose this,” he said, pouring every ounce of feeling he had into his words because he _needed_ her to believe him.

His heart felt like it was being torn in two. Or, beating in his throat, suffocating him. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to face this, to deal with it, to… do the right thing. “We could… We could move out of the apartment,” he said, hating every word because the last thing he wanted was to put space between them, not when he’d just got him back, not when he could wake up and see him sitting at the kitchen island every morning, real and here and _alive._ “I… I get it, if you don’t want us to be around him so much. Just - please, don't do this.”

Surprise flashed across Alice’s face, her back straightening. “Oh! No, I -” She laughed abruptly, then leaned forward, her leg pressing against his. “I don’t want this to end. That’s not what I’m saying, at all. But if you wanted… you could also go out with Eliot tonight. And then with me on Friday.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Repeat.”

Quentin stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying, what she actually meant. He’d been ready to fall apart under the idea that she wanted to break up with him because of his love for Eliot, but it _sounded_ like she wanted him to date _both_ of them, and… and that couldn’t be right. But she was meeting his eye evenly, looking so damned calm and collected while his whole world was spinning. He opened his mouth, but closed it when he couldn’t find anything close to the right words.

Alice’s hand squeezed his - _reassuringly_ \- and he shook his head, making himself focus.  “You’re enough,” he said clearly, needing her to hear it. He couldn’t bear it, if she was just saying this because she was afraid of Eliot getting between them. “This is enough.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she said, her dry tone only throwing him further. After a moment her smile softened, and her voice along with it. “But Quentin - I’m not blind. I know how hard it’s been, to have him back and yet not really have him. I want to give this a shot.”

His discomfort at being so incredibly _seen_ warred with the feeling bubbling up inside him, the hope that he pushed _down down down,_ because… she couldn’t mean it. And yet. Quentin’s eyes darted over her, searching for some hint of reluctance. She didn’t look sad, or upset, or angry. “You’re really… dealing with the fact that your boyfriend is in love with someone else by telling him to date them as well.” That couldn’t be what was really happening. Right?

Alice shrugged. “I think that sums it up nicely,” she said simply.

Feeling almost detached from the whole situation, Quentin forced a laugh, still struggling to settle into an appropriate response. “Alice, I don’t think you -”

“ _I_ don’t think you want to finish that sentence,” she said firmly, her eyebrows lifting. “You think I haven’t thought this through? You think I’m some naive girl who’s grasping at straws so she doesn’t lose her boyfriend? I know what I’m talking about, Quentin.”

And he believed her. He did. He didn’t think you could grow up in the family she had without a basic understanding of polyamory. If anything, he was surprised she didn’t have horrible associations with the idea, considering her parents. But that still didn’t mean that she _meant_ it, that she’d thought it through, that it was what she really wanted. “Yeah, but do you _really_ want this? Like - really. Alice… it’s not always an easy thing. If Eliot is pushing this and you don’t want it...” He could just imagine it. Eliot, making a joke about sharing him that turned out to be not so much of a joke, and then here they were, in a situation that she didn’t want -

“I know that,” she said firmly, then paused, her face softening. “I'm the one who suggested it. We talked about it a few times, and then had some time to think about it, and talked about it some more.”

 _Oh._ He thought back to the times that he'd seen them together. How they'd looked more and more comfortable in each other's company each time. Had all of that been for this? “And neither of you thought to include me in this?”

“We're including you now," she said. “Quentin... I love you -”

“I love you too,” Quentin said quickly, grasping onto that one familiar thing.

Alice's smile lit up her face, and her hips shifted on the bed to knock her knee against his almost playfully. “I know. I wouldn't… be okay with this if I didn't know. Q, all I want is for you to be happy, and I know this will. I know he does. And Eliot told me that you've done this before, that you were open and honest about what worked and what didn’t, and it was good for all of you." She paused for the first time he thought he noticed a hint of awkwardness in her eyes. "I want to try that," she said, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. When she continued, her voice was firm again, determined. "I want you to go out on this fantastic date that Eliot has spent the last two days planning, and then tomorrow we'll work out the fine print.”

Quentin searched her face for some hint that this wasn’t real, but… she was serious. Something tightened in his chest, and he dropped his eyes to their hands in between them, both of hers and both of his. “Alice…” he said, then paused, taking a deep breath. She _meant_ it. “I don’t…” Alice untwisted one of her hands from his and when he felt her fingers on his forehead he forced his eyes back up to hers, leaning into her touch as she brushed his hair back out of his eyes. It still wasn’t quite long enough to tuck properly behind his ears, but he took the gesture for the comfort it was designed for, let it steady him.

Taking another moment, another deep breath, he felt that knot start to loosen, just a little. How did he ever deserve her? After all of the things they’d been through, she was here, she  was trying, she wanted to try. “Are you sure?” he asked carefully. He needed her to be sure.

“I’m sure.” Dropping her hand to his cheek, she leaned in, and Quentin closed his eyes as she pressed her lips against his. He reached up to cup the back of her head, holding her close. She pulled back, just far enough for him to see the laughter in her eyes when she said, “Even knowing how insufferable Eliot can be.”

Quentin laughed, an outpouring of bewilderment and love and relief - and oh god, the relief that was pouring through him was all-consuming. _Eliot_. And without losing _Alice._ “I know that he loves you,” she continued softly. “I know he makes you happy. I think we can do this.”

 _I think we can do this._ She’d suggested this, she’d said, she’d sought out Eliot and told him that she wanted to give this a shot. Because she knew that how strongly he felt for Eliot… and how strongly he felt for her. It wouldn’t work unless she knew that, trusted that, trusted him. “I don’t deserve you.”

Standing up, she tugged on his arms to pull him up. “After all we’ve been through, we all just deserve some peace, don’t you think? And to be happy, with whoever makes us happy. _That’s_ what you deserve.” She leaned up to kiss him again, before turning him around and pushing him toward his closet. “Now. I imagine Eliot’s worrying holes in the floorboards, so if you want to go out with him tonight you might want to get changed and then go put him out of his misery.”

The thought of Eliot pacing around the living room while he waited for Alice to talk to him made him stop short. “He thought I’d say no.” Even after knowing this worked for them, with the right person. _God, he hoped he and Alice and Eliot were compatible._

_The fact that he even had the opportunity to find out -_

“He thought you wouldn’t forgive him,” Alice said as he slowly turned around to face her again. She gave him a small smile. “I told him forgiveness has been going around, lately.”

Eliot wasn’t pacing, but Quentin could see the tension in every inch of him as he leaned back against the kitchen island, his arms crossed and his fingers tapping incessantly at his elbow. Quentin approached him slowly, adjusting the collar of his shirt, trying not to smile at the fact that Eliot was nervous because of _him_.

Raising his eyes, Eliot stiffened when he saw Quentin, and then immediately relaxed against the bench, obviously trying to appear casual but looking everything but. “Hi,” Eliot said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching up into an almost-smile.

All that he wanted to do was rush forward and wrap his arms around him, grab him by his vest and pull him down to kiss him like he’d denied himself for so long, but he had to be _certain_. “Are you sure?” he asked. Realising that he was twisting his fingers together in front of him, he straightened them out and flattened them against his jeans. “Is this really what you want?”

Pushing away from the counter, Eliot straightened up, and Quentin saw his face soften as he  shed his bravado for honesty. His smile was still small but it finally felt real. “We’ve done this before, remember?”

Those years had been some of the happiest that he’d known. When those memories had appeared in his mind, he’d never thought that he’d ever have that again, what he felt with Eliot and Arielle and… and Teddy, all wrapped around his heart. But those circumstances would be impossible to replicate, and the last thing he wanted was to shoehorn Alice into the same thing he and Eliot had had with Arielle. And besides… “Yeah, but you _liked_ Arielle,” he said, only half-joking.

Eliot raised his eyebrow. “What makes you think I don’t like Alice?” he challenged.

And… that wasn’t it. Not really. He’d seen them spending time together, choosing to spend time together, had seen them actively enjoying each other, and he knew that it was real, that the two of them had the potential to be great friends, if they both could let go of their pride and their egos. If they had a reason to try - or rather, if they stopped creating reasons not to. No, that wasn’t it at all. The hope in his heart gave half an inch to the fingers of fear squeezing around it. “The fact that I don’t ever get to have everything that I want?” he said, his mouth twisting into a failed smile.

Eliot’s eyes were firm on his, making it impossible for him to look away. “And what do you want?” he asked quietly, and there it was, all laid out before him.

_What do you want?_

He _couldn’t_ have it all.

Could he?

“I love Alice,” Quentin said, and then smiled, letting himself just feel it for a moment, the happiness flooding through him. “And I love you.” Eliot’s eyes slid closed, exhaling sharply, the relief on his face obvious and overwhelming Quentin completely. “I want… I want…”

“To give this a shot?” Eliot said, opening his eyes and taking a hesitant step toward him, smiling at him so hopefully that Quentin felt it reverberating in every inch of him.

Like it was just that easy. Well, maybe it was. “To give this a shot.”

“Quentin…” Eliot said, his voice strained, and Quentin couldn’t hold back any longer. Closing the distance between them, he reached for Eliot, wrapping an arm around his waist as his other hand grabbed his shoulder to pull him down, and when he pressed his mouth against his it felt like the last piece was finally slotting into place inside of him. Eliot’s arms tightened around him, pulling him bodily against him, his hand already firm on the back of his neck, and Quentin couldn’t breathe for the joy flooding through him.

But who needed air anyway, when he was being kissed so thoroughly by the person who held one half of his heart, without having to lose the other?

* * *

“If you break his heart, I'm going to spell your taste buds so everything tastes like vinegar for the rest of your life.”

“If _you_ break his heart, I'm going to take a pair of scissors to all of your suits and vests and ties back in the cottage.”

Quentin looked between them cautiously. They were both smirking, but there was something steely in their eyes that told him that they both weren’t entirely joking, and he felt a wave of nervousness. “Is this… seriously the only thing that needs to be negotiated?” he said, leaning into the bit and hoping to steer away from the danger.

Rolling his eyes with an exaggerated sigh, Eliot winked at Quentin before turning back to Alice. “You can have him on Wednesday through Friday,” he said, gesturing toward him, “I'll take Saturday through Monday, and whoever gives him the most orgasms gets the extra day -”

Alice made a strangled sound of protest. “Will you be serious for once in your life?” she said, but her lips were twitching like she was trying not to smile.

“Oh, I'm deadly serious,” Eliot said, dropping his voice as he leaned forward and placed both of his elbows on the table.

Quentin flushed hot, but despite how much he wished it, the floor didn’t crack open to swallow him up. “I have a rule,” Quentin said, sinking lower in his seat. “No group discussions about my - my orgasms.”

Glancing across at him, Eliot grinned. “Mmm no, I can't promise that.”

Desperate for back up from someone reasonable, Quentin turned to look at Alice, his eyes wide and imploring, only to find her giving into her smile. “I _do_ like watching you all squirmy,” she said.

_Oh my god._

Fifteen minutes later, he looked back and forth between them, completely serious. “There’s no… favouritism, or picking one of you over the other, or loving one of you more than the other,” he said, _needing_ them to understand.

“We know,” Alice said, reaching out to settle her hand against the side of his neck, her thumb stroking his jaw comfortingly.

Eliot’s hand closed around his, squeezing it tightly in reassurance, and he turned to catch his eye as well, found him smiling at him softly. “We know.”

* * *

Grabbing his shoes, Quentin sat down on the side of the bed, slipping one on and bending down to pull the laces tight. He felt the bed dip behind him, heard the sheets rustling, so he wasn’t surprised at the light touch of fingers pushing his hair back to bare his neck, which prepared him for the soft touch of warm lips against his skin. None of that made it any easier to ignore. “Eliot,” he whined, fully intending to pull away but somehow finding himself leaning back against Eliot’s bare chest instead.

Eliot’s arm slid around his waist, pulling him back more firmly against him, as he parted his lips against Quentin’s neck, working his way up to his ear. “Just five more minutes,” he murmured.

And it would be so easy. To let Eliot pull him back down, to strip all of his clothes right back off, to press him down into the bed...

But he was _really_ looking forward to what he and Alice had planned for the day. While helping Zelda get the Library into shape, she’d come across a whole room of badly damaged books, a great many of which were histories of Fillory. Real histories, real accounts, and as soon as Alice had mentioned them he’d felt something catch inside him, a spark of hope. Modern Fillory had been sullied by the Beast, his own experiences there had been disappointing to say the least, and the stories that had lived in his heart for his whole life were tainted by the man who’d written them and the lies in their pages.

He didn’t have to live in that bitterness though, not forever. He knew Fillory was a place full of wonder at its core, and he was ready to find that wonder again.

And he’d just discovered, two months ago, give or take, that he was _particularly_ good at mending broken objects.

Giving himself a moment, he leaned into Eliot’s touch for a moment longer before reluctantly pulling away. “Alice is probably ready to go. Do you want her to yell at you for keeping her waiting?” he asked, forcing the other shoe onto his foot.

Eliot snorted. He’d loosened his grip around him, but his hand remained warm and steady on his back. “Alice doesn't yell,” he said pointedly. “She gets frosty. And if Alice is frosty with _me,_ do you want to take bets over whether that turns into sexually aggressive Alice for _you?_ ”

Finishing tying the laces on his All Stars, Quentin stood up and turned back to look at Eliot, who spun his legs around until he sat on the edge of the bed where Quentin just was. He didn’t bother to adjust the sheet that sat over his lap, barely covering him, and Quentin felt his skin flush as he forced himself to keep his eyes on Eliot’s face. “And you’re calling _her_ sexually aggressive right now?”

Humming, Eliot reached forward with his right hand and slipped his fingers through his belt loop, tugging him in close. “Don't you think she'd appreciate it if you're nice and relaxed from the blowjob I'm about to give you?” he asked, his other hand coming up to rest on his hip, his thumb slipping underneath his t-shirt to stroke lightly at his bare skin. Leaning forward, he held his gaze as he pressed a soft kiss to his stomach through his shirt.

Quentin wished that the fact that he knew he was being manipulated made him any less susceptible to it. He tried to clear his throat silently, but the glint in Eliot’s eye told him that he’d noticed. “In five minutes?”

Eliot grinned at him. “I can make it three.”

Laughing, Quentin put his hands on his shoulders and pushed him back so that he could kiss him. Parting his lips against his, he kissed him deeply, breathing in Eliot’s sigh of appreciation and letting himself be pulled with him as Eliot leaned back. Getting a knee on the bed to support himself, he waited until Eliot’s hands loosened on him to shift his grip before slipping out of them, grinning as Eliot fell back onto the bed without him. “Have a good day with Margo!” he said cheerfully.

He laughed again at Eliot’s loud groan, barely ducking in time to miss the pillow he threw his way just before he reached the bedroom door. “You’re no fun,” Eliot protested, but Quentin caught a flash of his grin when he glanced back before closing the door behind him.

Alice was sitting at the kitchen island. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his hoodie on and zipping it up before slipping an arm around her shoulders and kissing her.

“It’s okay,” she said, smiling up at him. “You’re the one missing out.” She pointed to the plate on the counter before her, a smattering of crumbs all that remained of whatever was on there. “Josh made breakfast. He was going to make more, but then Margo started complaining about Fillorian plumbing again and decided to have another shower, and obviously Josh had to join her.”

Quentin laughed, but he couldn’t blame either of them, not really. They were only here for another day before going back to Fillory, and since Margo had already promised her day to Eliot, he wasn’t surprised that she was taking every moment she could to enjoy a hot, steamy shower - in more ways than one.

"Obviously," he said, and then paused. "Remember when Josh was half wolfed out at Brakebills? Imagine getting all that hair out of the shower drain, but for _both_ of them."

"Ha," Alice said. Grabbing his wrist, she slipped her hand under the arm of his hoodie. He frowned at her, confused, and then yelped when she pulled at the hairs on the back of his arm. "You're halfway there already."

"Hey!" he protested, but couldn't help but grin at her when she laughed, snatching her hand away before he could grab it. He caught the other one instead, pulling her in close and kissing her firmly.

They both looked up when they heard footsteps. Eliot waved his fingers delicately at Alice as he walked past them to the coffee machine. His hair was still a mess and his robe was untied, but at least he'd pulled on the shorts that he didn't bother to pretend he slept in. “I tried to warm him up for you, Alice, but he wasn't having it," he said, pulling a mug from the cupboard.

Alice looked between the two of them, and Quentin felt the uncertainty on her face. This was still so new, and learning how they all worked together - how Alice and Eliot worked together - was taking some getting used to.

He saw the moment that Alice decided she was okay with the banter and the meaning behind it, saw her face soften. She looked up at Quentin, rolling her eyes slightly in Eliot's direction, her smile faint but true. "I make no promises about not wearing him out when I bring him home," she said dryly to Eliot's back.

Coffee in hand, Eliot pressed a kiss to the side of Quentin's head as he passed them on his way to sit on the couch with Julia.

"Anyway," Alice said, when he turned back to face her. "I can't wait for you to see these books. From what we can tell, a lot of them are Fillorian histories, and Zelda seems to think they're thousands of years old. Fillory is so different from Earth now, and I can't even imagine what it must have been like that long ago, particularly with Ember and Umber pulling the strings. And I think." She paused, pressing her lips together as though she was trying to hold back her excitement. "I think some of them might have some of the magic theory that I lost." Her eyes were bright, and he felt such a wave of adoration and affection for her, that she'd found something that excited her so much, something _magical_ that excited her so much, and that she wanted to share it with him.

Leaning forward, he captured her lips with his, kissing her with all of the fullness that he felt ever-growing inside him, all the warmth and love and hope that he didn't think he could ever _really_ have. Her hands came up quickly, cupping his face tenderly, and he felt her smile against his lips before he pulled back. “Are you happy?” he asked, feeling a little desperate for her to confirm that she felt anything close to how good he did in this moment.

Alice's eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise, but after a moment she smiled, her whole face lighting up. “I really am.”

Grinning, he glanced across to Eliot, sitting with Julia on the couch, and then back to Alice. He couldn't wrap his head around it, how good this was. “Me too," he said, and meant it.


End file.
